


The Anamnestic Solution

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cursed objects, F/M, Gets Fluffier throughout, Self-Harm, dark start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28430475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: When Kingsley learns what Hermione did to protect her parents he goes out of his way to restore their memories, and their daughter, to them.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Kingsley Shacklebolt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	The Anamnestic Solution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PixieKisses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixieKisses/gifts).



> Thank you to Jennifer Anderson for beta-ing this story for me.

The war was over!

As the sun rose over the horizon spreading its yellow fiery rays across the scarred and grotesque battlefield. The diorama of tragedy centred around a hunched over teenager with small arms around her waist, fat drops of tears rolled down her dirty cheeks, tracking several paths marking her melancholic journey. Torn apart by her sorrow she dropped on her shaking knees as she unfurled her hands to look at a picture she held in her pocket. Her parents smiled warmly back at her, their hands waving causing a slight blur in the photo. Oh, how she wished that they could talk to her, but they could not. No!

They were living their lives in Australia as Monica and Wendell Wilkins when, in fact, they were Helen and Alexander Granger from Cheltenham, a spa town in Gloucestershire.

Wherever they were, they would probably wish for nothing more than what they already have, and it certainly wouldn’t have involved a mixed up witch.

Yes, the girl was the brilliant Hermione Granger. So brilliant, she may have ruined the nucleus of family life. No matter how small it was, her parents were all she had for family. Both were only children. For some odd reason, she felt as if she had orphaned herself by trying to protect them. Her mouth opened as her sobs grew louder, and she crumpled the photograph in her hands. Hollowness and tears, that’s what she felt like: a hollowed-out tree rooted alone in the rain with no protection from the winter storms.

Cold, lonely, and filled with despair, Hermione caught sight of something glinting in the sun. The pointed end of a Death Eater blade lay in the cold death grip of the owner. It seemed to leer at her emotions, glinting with sarcasm,  _ why don’t you kill yourself? _ It seemed to say, _ just do it! Pick me up and pierce me into your sweet willing flesh where the crimson tide doth flow. Let yourself bleed! _

Fingers shaking, she stretched out to test the point of the blade. She gasped with pain at the sharpness as she withdrew her hand from the shining knife. Getting on her hands and knees, she dug into the sloshy mud, decorated with jagged rocks that cut into her palms and lets. Hermione attempted to crawl, the sharp tears in her jeans allowing the blood from her knees and hands to seep down into the hallowed foundations of Hogwarts. She was by the side of the dead body in seconds frantically trying to claim the hilt of the sword from its previous owner – the unyielding fingers of the woman would not shift easily.

“No wonder they say in movies: You’ll have to take it out of my cold dead fingers.” She grunted as she managed to finally remove the thumb, gasping with the effort she picked it up and held the knife so the green light washed her face, offering her a sickly complexion. She smiled. “Oh yes, let me end this sweet sorrow! Where the heart is heavy with pain, let this dagger be thy rest as its sharp point shall mar my breast!”

Just as the point of the knife pressed against her beating heart, so loud it throbbed in her ears, she was now bathed in the yellow sunlight, smiling as she pressed against her breast, preparing to lose all her blood just to end her anguish. She gasped as the tip pierced her flesh. “DIE WORTHLESS BITCH DIE!” she screamed. As she was about to allow the titillating blade to finish its work, she felt a hand at her wrist.

She glanced up to see if he, for it was, was going to help her. “I’ve been naughty,” she giggled as her hair hung around her, eyes wild as they flicked from side to side, her head moving like a serpent surveying its territory. “Are you going to do it?” she whispered, then giggled coldly, “Are you going to be the one that kills me?”

“No,” the man said gently. “I am here to stop you.”

“Stop it,” she said, then she cackled, her hands on the ground covered in mud and blood. “Mud and blood!” she giggled again with girlish glee, “mud and blood. That’s me!” She threw her head back, cackling like a Knockturn Alley Hag. “MUDBLOOD. MUDBLOODS MUST DIE!” she wrapped her hand around the man's and plunged the blade deeper still, blood trickling down the valley of her breasts. A drop fell to the ground. “Don’t you get it?” she whispered seriously. “I’ve got to go!”

Just as she was about to plunge further, the man managed to twist her wrist away from the weeping wound. She struggled to turn the sword back, even though she heard and felt bones crack in her knuckles and wrist. Wincing with agony Hermione tried to reach for her wand but the man was long of limb and managed to snatch it from her grasp before she could get it with her tiny fingers.

Recognising the wand, the man paled. How could anyone let this happen? Wands choose the wizard. They contain part of a personality. If the wand is forced to be with someone who does not suit it, the witch or wizard may develop the habits of the previous owner. In this case, Hermione Granger, due to being unsuited to Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand and being emotionally vulnerable, was sure of who she was but had suddenly developed the madness of Bellatrix Lestrange. There was only one thing for it, and that was to snap the wand.

It was difficult as he held the knife in one hand and the wand in the other. Hermione was writhing and cursing beneath him, twisting her hands into misshapen claws of a cat – she struck at him with her nails. Ignoring the pain the man grunted as he took the blade of the sword he took the wand and proceeded to try and bend the blade and the stick. Eventually, with a satisfying crack, the gnarly wand splintered in two. Sparks flew from the fragmented wand but he still had a knife to destroy.

As soon as the wand had been shorn in two, Hermione collapsed flatly on the ground. To his right, he spotted a crumpled photograph of a couple that strongly resemble Hermione.  _ They must be her parents _ , he sighed. No matter!

Sweating from his excursion he took the blade and Scourgified it. He walked back up to the castle, exhausted from his tussle Draped across his arms was the limp form of Hermione Granger.

“Robards!” he exclaimed. He caught sight of another handsome man. “Dearborn!” he yelled.

The men in question hopped, skipped, and jumped over the rubble littering the once glorious acres of Hogwarts school. “I want you both to take this knife and test it for dark charms, jinxes, and anything else you might want to know. It nearly killed Hermione Granger!”

“Yes, Auror Shacklebolt,” Dearborn said earnestly.

Robards paled. “The Hermione Granger?”

“Found her alone next to the body of the dead woman. Also, make sure Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand is well and truly destroyed.”

A few days later Hermione awoke in a hospital bed with bandages all over her, so much so she resembled a mummy!

“Wh…” she managed. “H…” She tried again, “whe…” oh bother! She turned around and found Auror Shacklebolt sitting dozing in the chair next to her, “Kings?” she whispered. Why did she feel so light-headed?

He stirred in his chair and smiled as he woke up, realising Hermione was conscious.

“Hermione!” he exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

A muffled sound of discomfort left her mouth as she squirmed around trying to sit up, wincing with every movement. “Extremely sore,” she hissed through her teeth. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could enlighten me,” he said. “I found you riddled with some kind of madness. Hysteria was leading you to attempt to kill yourself with a cursed blade belonging to a deceased Death Eater. You had a photograph of your parents…you called yourself a Mudblood.”

Her head began throbbing. “Water,” she gasped.

“Of course,” Kingsley said as he hitched up his robes to stand up. Just as he was about to pour her water, Poppy showed up.

“Good,” she said happily. “You’re awake. We really thought we had lost you!”

“We?” she asked with a furrowed brow.

“Everyone. Oh, Miss Granger, Kingsley has been sitting here for four whole days. Molly has been taking care of your hygiene. All your friends have been by. You have gifts stored in my office as there are so many. Now,” she clasped her hands together in front of her. “What are your symptoms?”

“Pain!” she said. “All over.”

Kingsley immediately poured water as Poppy pulled out a phial, popped the stopper and placed it in her hand. He watched as Hermione poured the extra strong pain reliever down her throat. “Is there anything you need?” he asked as he turned towards her. Instead of letting her drink the water from the glass, he cupped the base of her head. She automatically opened her mouth and was replenished. “Hermione,” Kingsley took hold of her hand and smiled warmly at her, “I have appointed myself as your bodyguard.” He was about to let go but he felt her hand squeezing his forearm. “You get some rest soon but first, I want you to explain why you were crumpling a photo of your parents in the middle of the battlefield?”

“Bodyguard?” Hermione gasped.

“Yes,” he said. “There are still Death Eaters out there!” he sighed. “The Photograph.”

Closing her eyes, Hermione counted to ten in her head. “I obliviated them before we went on the hunt. They’re somewhere in Australia with no idea I exist!” she sobbed. “They are under the names of Monica and Wendell Wilkins.”

Kingsley pulled her hand from his arm, snapping into Auror mode. He glanced at Poppy. She nodded. “Take some dreamless sleep, Hermione,” she said. “You do need rest”

Hermione gulped down the potion. It was efficient, as she slumped into somnolence straightaway.

“I need to go to Australia and get her parents back to her.”

“What if…”

“Unspeakables, Poppy,” he said. “There are some I would trust with my life.”

“Who is to be her bodyguard whilst you’re gone?”

“Keep her at Hogwarts.” He squeezed Poppy’s upper arm. “Just keep her occupied here. I want,” he looked again at her. “I just want to see that smile on her face again.”

_ He’s smitten _ , Poppy thought. _ I wonder when that started _ ?

Kingsley Apparated straight to the Ministry’s front doors – not bothering with any secret entrance ways – to get to the Unspeakables. He started liking Hermione on the Thestral ride to the Burrow, during the Battle of the Seven Potters. She was glorious in the final showdown...just the sort he would like to get to know more of. He hated seeing her broken almost beyond repair in the hospital. She needed her parents, and she needed them damned quick! He strode purposefully to the Lifts, then pressed the button to go down into the cavernous building. On the ground floor, Kingsley straightened his robes to look somewhat semi-professional. The doors opened with a flick of his wand and in he walked, tall and proud!

He zig-zagged his way through the corridors to the section that dealt with the mysteries of the mind, and once there he glanced at the witches and wizards.

He pointed at a blonde woman wearing glasses and a white overcoat, and a bald man with deep blue eyes. Jed and Jane, they were called, and Kingsley trusted them with his life. He urged them to follow him into a deep recess in one of the walls. Once shaded away from view, and soundproofed, he spoke his mind.

“Obliviate – what do we know about it?”

“Only severe trauma can restore the broken mind,” Jed said, his dark voice emitted doom.

Shaking her head, Jane smiled at her husband fondly before turning to Kingsley. “We have been working on a potion that could reawaken memories if the charm was recent.”

This piqued Kingsley’s interest. “Recent?” he asked. “How do you define ‘recent’?”

“The longer the charm is effective the more likelihood there is of not getting any of the old memories back. We have calculated that if not given in a five-year time frame the potion will be rendered useless,” Jed warned. “Why do you ask?”

“How did you determine that?”

“We’ve been testing the potion on Gilderoy Lockhart,” Jane sighed, taking off her glasses. She folded the arms carefully, neatly placing the frames in her upper pocket. “Unfortunately, we have not managed to restore his memories. But other test studies show that we are on the right track. The more recent the curse was placed, the less damaged mind can be restored.”

“Is there a specific reason you ask?”

Kingsley rubbed the sides of his temples; he needed a Brandy and he needed it fast. “The case I am talking about happened last June,” he said.

“Then it can be done,” Jane said. “We have batches of the solution. The war has created a lot of problems this might solve. It depends how powerful the curse was. Why?”

“A friend of mine Obliviated her parents to protect them against the Death Eaters,” he said. “She needs them.”

“It needs to be administered orally by the person who Obliviated them. Where are they?”

“Somewhere in Australia,” he said. “We need them. I am going to floo call the Minister there,” he said. “This is a sensitive case.”

“Of course.”

“Oh,” Jane said. “The DNA of the castee has to be in the potion before given. It strengthens the solution.”

“Right,” Kingsley sighed.

He was hoping to not have to involve Hermione in this. He wanted to surprise her. But if her presence were necessary then he would have to find them and bring them to Hogwarts. There was nothing he would not do for her. Such a treasure for this world. Why couldn't they include him in the hunt? It would have been preferable to what he had endured. How dare Dumbledore keep the adults at bay and make the young fight? When he first met them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were carefree children. Now they had grown up war-hardened and desolate of spirit. Perhaps Hermione more than most!

“We will send you the solution the moment you request it,” Jed said.

“Do you have a name for this solution?”

“Anamnestic Solution,” Jane said.

Kingsley nodded. “Fitting name,” he agreed.

Three days! That was all it took: Three Days! Hermione was improving by the day. Currently, she was in St Mungo’s surrounded by Kingsley, Harry, the Weasleys and right in front of her – her parents.

“But how…”

“I have doors open to me the Death Eaters did not.”

“Who are you?” the man asked.

He was juggling his son on his hip; the woman was holding a little girl. Hermione could not believe she was a big sister. The woman tilted her head, “She strikes me somehow familiar,” she mused. “Like us…”

No, that means the spell can’t have worked. “Kingsley,” she asked, turning her head to look at him. “What are they doing here?”

“I asked them,” Kingsley said, “because you were so upset and I wanted to do something for you. Here.” He put a box on her tray and wheeled it close to her. “The three of you have to put a piece of your DNA in this. It is supposed to help bring back their bond to you.”

Hermione gulped and nodded. She smiled shyly as she plucked some hairs out of her head and placed a few in each of the phials before her. Kingsley wheeled the tray to the parents. Monica shrugged her shoulders and copied the girl. The man was slightly more reluctant but in the end, realised he was not going to get any answers until he did so. He placed some of his hairs and the mixtures began to bubble and fizz like Polyjuice Potion.

“Now what?” he asked.

“You drink!” Kingsley said.

“Can’t be worse than marmite!” Wendell shrugged his shoulders, a remark that caused everyone to look at Hermione with varying states of confusion on their faces. “Oh well,” he sighed. “Bottom’s up.”

With that, the Wilkins drank the solution. The phials slipped out of their hands immediately and splintered on the floor at their feet. Molly was there the moment she thought the same would happen to the children. Ginny also anticipated her mother and managed to wrestle the young girl out of her mother’s arms. They clutched onto their foreheads screaming as fire seemed to rage inside them. Flickering in their squeezed shut eyelids was the last eighteen years that were taken from them: images of a little girl playing. Her father saw him tossing her in the air and she managed to stay there. Her mother witnessed her daughter coming up to her asking how babies were made.

The closer to time, the faster the images sped up.

“Hermione get the kettle on!” her father shouted. “We’re watching Star Trek, want to join us…” She sobbed; those were the last words that her father spoke before she wiped their memories.

“Still do not see what you see in it…” her mother said.

Then they opened their eyes, the headaches gone. They blinked as if seeing for the first time and spotted Hermione sitting in bed covered in bandages. “What’s happened!” her mother gasped, rushing to tend to her daughter.

“Never mind me!” she exclaimed. “What happened to you two? How come…”

“We were going to tell you…”

“All right,” Poppy said. “Now we know that it works, let's leave the Granger family to it.” With that, she bustled the group out of the room.

“Kings!” Hermione exclaimed warmly as her mother plopped her baby sister on her lap. “Come here.”

Slowly he nodded and let his feet follow her command. Before he knew what she was about to do, he found his shirt grabbed in a tight fist. She drew him forward and placed her lips on his. She kissed him on the mouth only briefly but it definitely was enough to make them both blush.

“How about dinner,” he asked, “when you’re well again?”

“I would like that,” she coughed. Then she turned to her little sister. “Hello, little girl…”

“Juliet,” Helen said. “There will be no more Monica Wilkins…Or Wendell… Honestly, Hermione what happened, why, and if the reasons are not good enough you’re grounded…apart from your date!”

They laughed and Kingsley shut the door. The last thing he heard was Hermione saying: “Benedick! Juliet! What is it with you and Shakespeare?”

He hoped there was no further need of the Anamnestic Solution but it wouldn’t hurt, he supposed, to further test it.

**Author's Note:**

> I may continue this story at some point and expand on what is already written here.


End file.
